


Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

by MostlyAnon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Club Errera, F/M, Freelancers - Freeform, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Military, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Partnership, Pre-Canon, Project Freelancer, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Yorkalina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-09-05 05:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAnon/pseuds/MostlyAnon
Summary: “Looks good,” she said, then added “…New York.”“Please, New York was my father,” he said, without missing a beat. “Call me York.”The backstory to York and Carolina, more or less.





	1. Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)

There was only one candidate left in the room; by coincidence Carolina was picked for the interview. 

He was already in a spare suit of Freelancer armor and he’d passed the initial trials to get this far; she knew that much without having to read his file. He had to be good to get to the final stages; most of the candidates washed out long before the armor trials. She was only there to facilitate the evaluation, not part of the evaluation. To that end, the interviews had been mostly a chore for the few established agents.

The waiting room was practically sanitized of military identification; there were various civilian blueprints, both paper and holographic, on display, a few chairs the candidate wasn't able sit in while in armor, and an empty receptionist’s desk. Carolina could count the number of times she’d been in the room using only one hand; all of the times had occurred during interviews. This candidate stood in the corner, his back to her. 

“You must be our last recruit,” she said by way of announcing herself, though she was fairly sure he'd noticed her arrival. 

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then again in surprise. “Carolina?” he asked. It took her a moment to place his voice out of context.

“You were at the bar last night,” she said. She paused to digest the oddness of seeing him here. The first question that popped into her mind also popped out of her mouth, “Are you sure you’re up for this?” 

They had both been drinking the night before, enough that she still had a lingering headache. He shrugged a shoulder. 

“Probably.” He looked back at the blueprint he’d been studying. “Hey, can you tell me if this is an original?”

She glanced at the framed print. “I think so,” she said.

He whistled low, shaking his head. “It’s a beaut,” he said, making her reconsider it.

“Is it?” she asked, uncertain as to what made someone admire a blueprint. It looked like every other schematic she’d ever seen.

He nodded and looked around the room, gesturing slightly at the walls. “What I want to know is what branch of the military outfits a waiting room with the blueprints of the greatest heists of the last century?”

“Is that what they are?” she asked, surprised. She looked around as well, wondering who had done the decorating.

“I’m pretty sure,” he confirmed. “Say, we’re not competing for the same job, are we?” He didn’t seem to be overly threatened by the idea, just idly curious.

“Not the way you think,” she said. “Come on, the training grounds are this way.”

—

“You’re not really much of a leader,” Carolina observed.

He looked startled. “My team did okay.”

“You took four shots in order to save your teammates.” She tapped the barrel of her gun against the paint flecks drying on his shoulder. “In the field—“

“Yeah, I’ve read the handbook,” he said, as they headed to where the gear for the next round was laid out. “What can I say? They weren’t wearing armor, I was. I could probably take a hit from a tank in this gear.” He glanced over at her. “Are you ever going to clue me in about this job?”

She knew F.I.L.S.S. was recording what they said and she knew that little speech had earned him a good mark. “Not my place. The Director will let you know, if you get it.”

He started to methodically check all the weapons; disengaging each, checking the chamber, working from left to right without faltering, no matter what he picked up, despite the armor. He held his hand out to her and without thinking, she handed him the pistol. It was the first time in a long time she’d handed over a firearm, to anyone.

“A place like this probably has enough leaders,” he observed, looking around the training grounds as he checked the pistol. 

“Reset for hand to hand,” Carolina called to F.I.L.S.S. “And set up for the final evaluation."

He finished with the weapons. “Hang on,” he said, jogging off the grounds to catch the agents who had served as part of his team for the last trial. She watched him shake hands, then laugh and clap Illinois by the arm. He offered no explanation when he returned where she stood. 

“Making friends?” she asked.

“Always nice to meet new people,” he said, then glanced up at the scoreboard. “What’s—“

There was no way he saw her move, but he was already swaying back when she threw the first punch. He danced backward to recover his balance, giving himself the space and time to evaluate the new development.

He was fast. It was unexpected given the way he moved before, but he dodged almost as often as he deflected. He managed to keep up with her for her first, experimental flurry of strikes and he jumped when she dropped to sweep his legs. He landed laughing.

“You’re pretty good,” he said, testing her own guard, but failing to connect. He sounded amused, impressed. 

She wondered what it would take to rattle him and decided to find out. She usually pulled punches, even this late in the interviewing process, but his confidence was breathtaking. Either he was the real thing or he was a paper tiger and she wanted to find out which. 

“I’m not _pretty_ good,” she corrected, taunting. “I’m excellent. I’m certainly better than you. What’s the matter? Can’t hit a girl?”

“Can’t say it’s been an issue before,” he said, falling back slightly. He stretched out an arm and waggled his fingers; it was just enough to split her attention for a half-second. He didn’t pull the hip throw; even knowing how to fall, she went down hard. She was barely on the ground before he offered her a hand up.

“Just trying to be polite,” he said, setting his guard again. “So, is there a style I should be demonstrating or is this—“

She rang his bell; he shook his head to clear it. He learned fast, staying just out of her reach, ducking blows, dodging. It took her a few minutes to finally realize he was teasing her. She put her hands on her hips.

“Can you be serious?” she asked and was promptly hit in the head by a magazine he’d palmed while checking the guns. It was such a unexpected, ineffective attack that she gaped at him.

“Now? Or in general?” he asked and launched into a real attack. 

His reach was slightly longer than hers, but she _was_ faster than him, even without her armor’s modifications. He settled into the gumbo style of fighting seasoned professionals developed, not quite a boxer, never purely one of the martial arts. He went for the strikes he knew he could land and worried at her guard the rest of the time. It was shockingly fun to try and get past his defense; fewer strikes landed than she would have expected, although he didn’t seem to slow down much after her first couple of hits.

Absorbed by the match, she forgot the last stage of the evaluation. The floor started to change without warning and gunfire cracked through the grounds, breaking her concentration. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind the newly created cover pylons. At first, she assumed it was another attack, but his immediate attention was on the Freelancers that were laying down suppressing fire.

“Teams?” he asked, ducking his head around the corner to try and evaluate the attack. He immediately jerked back.

“What?” she asked. It might have been the first time any of the candidates asked her anything, but only a handful had made it to the final stage.

“Am I still supposed to be leading here, are you?” he asked, then paused. “Please tell me you’re not on _their_ team.”

“Director?” she asked, because now that he was questioning it, she realized she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Let us see if he can follow orders,” the Director drawled over her comm.

“Break left and get armed. I’ll take right,” she instructed the candidate. 

“You’re going in unarmed?” He asked like he was confirming, not questioning her ability.

“I’ll keep them busy until you can get to the guns,” she said. “Did you get eyes on them?”

“Looked like seven, from about eleven-thirty to two ‘clock,” he said, then ducked his head out again. “Eight. Regular intervals, looked like submachine guns of some sort. Pretty sure I saw Illinois.”

There was a pause as the agents reloaded. Instead of making a move, he raised his voice. “Hey, Illinois, is that you?” he shouted.

There was another, longer pause before Illinois answered, “yes?”

“Dick move, man,” the candidate returned.

Carolina rolled her eyes. “Are you finished?”

“Illinois is at one o’clock and he’s probably going to be favoring his right shoulder,” he said in an undertone. “He fell hard when you threw him. They aren’t in armor.”

She blinked and looked at him, impressed despite herself. “Noted,” she said after a second. “Sync?”

“Sync.” He held up a fist, closed, and listened for something. She couldn’t tell what, but after a second, he gestured for her to go.

—

It was several days before she thought about him again, though she was told he’d been accepted into the program. Late getting back from a mission, Carolina was stowing her armor when he stepped out from behind the lockers. When she looked up, he spread his hands to showcase his new suit of armor.

“How do I look?” he asked.

She gave him a critical once over, appraising the suit. “Like a Freelancer,” she said, crossing over to him. “Turn around.”

He turned and she checked the fit of the armor, pulling on the plates to make sure they were secure. When she finished, he turned back around. She could see the faint impression of a smile behind the gleam of his faceplate.

“Looks good,” she said, then added “…New York.”

“Please, New York was my father,” he said, without missing a beat. “Call me York.”

“You sure you’re good with that call sign?” she asked, going back to her own gear. “It seems awful… northern for you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug. “I was going to ask for Carolina, but it turns out, someone already claimed it.”

“Very funny,” she said, locking down the gear. “Are you going to try it out?”

He flexed his hand, stretching out his wrist. “The Director said to be field ready as soon as possible. And something about introducing myself to Phyllis?” 

She smiled. “Good luck,” she said, pointing him toward the training grounds. She’d had bruises for a week after her own first meeting with F.I.L.S.S.; initial testing required calibration to the agents own strengths and weaknesses. She had scheduled downtime, but found herself in the gallery, watching him as F.I.L.S.S. put him through his paces.


	2. Short Change Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really expect there to be another chapter, either.

York didn’t need to look for her; over the weeks he’d learned most of Carolina’s routines. (If he were honest, the Freelancers lived in too close quarters for him not to have picked up on _everyone’s_ habits.) When he found the gym empty, he headed for the gallery overlooking the training grounds, thinking to save himself the trip downstairs. Instead, he found Carolina in the gallery with her back to the door, looking out one of the large windows. Startled to find her up there and not on the grounds below, he went see what had her attention. She didn’t glance away from what appeared to be a late-stage interview below. He watched the figures, taking a moment to sort out who was who.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“The meeting?” he asked, glancing over.

She nodded and they both winced as Florida took a hard hit.

“Pretty much the same as always,” York said. “There’s something about that guy…”

“Yeah,” she agreed. She’d never cared for the Counselor, never cared for the required, weekly meetings.

“…Yeah,” he echoed, rubbing a hand down the back of his head. “Wait a second…Are there… two candidates?” He leaned closer to the window, squinting.

“Twins,” she said. “Apparently they’re used to working as a team. It’s not unheard of.”

“They’re good,” he said. 

“We’ll see,” she said.

—-

Carolina had York in an armlock when the twins first ventured back out onto the grounds, a few days after their intake orientations wrapped up. Successful candidates underwent a battery of introductory testing, long before they ever met anyone on the squad. The Counselor referred to the testing as crucial for the proper placement of agents on various teams. Carolina wasn’t sure there were enough of them to refer to as _teams_ , but she didn’t question the news that the twins had been assigned to her team.

The two moved across the grounds, easy in matching armor so new Carolina could practically smell the paint. York caught sight of them and slapped the floor twice with his free hand. She released him and they both rolled to their feet. 

“Break?” he asked, already reaching for the seal to his helmet.

“Break,” she agreed in a drawl. “It’s not like you’ve been doing that much.”

“I’ll have you know it’s hard work to look this good,” he said, pulling the helmet off and flashing her a grin before turning to offer a hand to the taller twin. “Hey there. You must be the new guys. I’m York.”

“North,” the man said, shaking his hand. “This is my sister, South. Dakota, I guess. Is it against protocol to shorten our call signs?”

“Who knows?” York asked, then paused to think it over. He frowned slightly and glanced back at Carolina. “It’s not, is it?”

“It’s fine,” she said, stopping beside him to nod at the pair. She reached up to remove her own helmet. “I’m Carolina.”

South sucked in a breath, but before she could speak, York gestured to the gun North held, interrupting anything she’d been about to say.

“Hey, is that the new SRS99C?” he asked. “I didn’t know we had one.”

Carolina rolled her eyes as she watched him and North disappear into what appeared to be a pit of happy, natural friendliness.

“Well, that’s a match made in Heaven,” she observed, before turning back to the other woman. “I saw part of your interview. You aren’t bad.”

“I’m way better than ‘not bad’,” South said, cocking her chin up. “You only grapple with your boyfriend or does daddy make you play with all the kids?”

“He’s not,” Carolina said in a mild tone that made York glance over at them. He gestured to North that they should move away from the women, already backing up himself. North appeared confused, but followed his lead. 

South tilted her head and made a show of looking Carolina, then York, up and down. “Really?”

“Be my guest,” Carolina offered in the same even tone and part of her was honestly amused when York, without breaking off his conversation, took another, larger step back. Much further and he’d be against the wall. “But if you want a bout, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Bring it,” South said, following her into the practice ring. 

Carolina put her helmet back on. “York, count us down,” she called.

He glanced over and held up three fingers, moving a final step away. “Set…go!”

South was good, but Carolina went in knowing the other woman had underestimated badly. She let South try a few opening salvos, building her confidence up, testing her guard.

“This is going to hurt,” she heard york mutter. “Come on, stop playing with her.”

Carolina decided to drive the point home the first time her fist connected. It staggered South; the follow up put her down. South got back to her feet, shook her head, and raised her fists again. Another three precise hits dropped her to her knees. She braced herself on the floor, refusing to be laid out. Carolina had to give South her due; she was tough.

“Damn,” South said, getting back to her feet and shaking her head again. “You really don’t pull your punches, do you?”

Carolina ignored York’s laugh and shook her head. “Never saw the point.”

“We’re going to get along great,” South said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

—

Virginia was the first to fall.

Less than an hour after his debrief, York sat on the bench in the locker room, gear stowed and hair still wet from the shower. He turned his head to look at the clock. He expected the rest of the squad any time, but knew it’d still be a while before Carolina was done. He propped his arms on his legs and scrubbed his hands over his face, exhaling a long breath. A cigarette would be nice, he thought, head still in his hands. A cigarette and most of a bottle of whiskey.

When North came out from storing his own armor, York stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. You two did good out there. It was a sharp first run.”

“I can’t help thinking—“ North started, but York shook his head.

“This isn’t on you. You did good. No one was expecting what happened.” York patted his shoulder and gave him a wan smile. “Throw on some civvies. We’ll hit Errera, have a—“ he broke off at the sound of footsteps in the hall, looking over at the door. “Huh.” He glanced at the clock. “Someone’s early.”

North followed his gaze to the door.

“Dammit!” Carolina’s helmet hit the wall of the locker room and clattered against the floor, visor cracked.

York glanced back at North. “Give us a minute, will you?”

“Sure,” North agreed, heading for the door. He only faltered a step as he passed Carolina, who had stopped in front of her locker with tension radiating off her. He opened his mouth to say something, shut it again, and continued out the door, silent. 

York crossed the room to pick up her helmet. He held it up to examine the crack, then set it on a bench. “...Carolina--,” he said, spreading his hands slightly but not trying to approach her. 

“We messed up, York,” Carolina said, spinning on him. She fisted her hands by her sides. “ _I_ messed up.”

“Hey, _Virginia_ was the one who messed up. He was never supposed to be by that window.” There was a flinty edge in his voice when he said it, quiet though it was. “You gave him orders. He was out of position.”

“I had the command,” she said, shaking her head. “I should have—“

York raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

She made an inarticulate sound and abruptly wilted, dropping to sit on the bench. “I could have stopped it,” she protested quietly, but the fight had drained out of her.

“Maybe,” he agreed, sitting on the bench beside her. Their shoulders bumped and she leaned into the support. “And I could have sent us in a different way. There are a lot of what-ifs, but at end of the day, Virginia’s still dead.”

They sat in silence a while, before Carolina finally exhaled a half-laugh and turned her head to look at him. “That’s it? ‘Yes, you could have done better’?”

He tilted his head and gave her half a smile. “That and I’m buying the first round at Errera tonight.”

She shut her eyes for a long minute, resting her head on his shoulder. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She straightened up. “Okay.” Her voice was steadier the second time.

York snagged her helmet as he stood up. “Go get changed. I’ll talk to Flanders about your helmet.”

He talked the quartermaster to rush the repair to her helmet. That night, he lit her cigarette, handed her a drink, and dedicated the entire night to fallen comrades. By the third round, she felt like she could breathe again.


	3. Walking In Memphis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know if Carolina actually ever found out that Tex was an AI representation of her mother?

Washington faltered in the door to the lounge, not sure enough of his place to intrude. York sat at the end of the couch, apparently engrossed by a holographic blueprint of a compound. A woman laid stretched out on the rest of the couch, legs over one armrest and her head resting on York’s thigh. Wash didn’t recognize her, but he still had only met about six of the other Freelancers. As Wash watched, York spun the hologram slightly, enlarged a section, then rested his hand back on the woman’s bright hair. She didn’t open her eyes at the touch, apparently lost in sleep.

“You’re on the roster for the mission tomorrow, rook,” York said, without looking at him. “Word came down from the Director about an hour ago. Make sure you review the briefing, they want you on the Alpha squad with us.”

“Oh, I…” Wash looked around, then stepped fully into the lounge. “Sure. Thanks. Who’s…?” He gestured to the woman, then realized York wasn’t looking at him and felt foolish.

“This,” York said, “is our fearless leader, Carolina.” He finally looked away from the schematic, glancing down at the woman like he was in on a joke. “She got back a few hours ago. You don’t have to whisper, she slept through a heavy shelling before.”

“Once,” the woman said without opening her eyes. “And we were sealed in a bomb shelter. It was perfectly safe.” She stretched slightly, shifting position.

York patted her hair soothingly. “Hey now, you’re asleep,” he told her. “And I have it on pretty good authority that you don’t talk in your sleep.”

“…Don’t give the rookie ideas,” she said, reaching up unerringly to swipe a hand through the holographic projection. It wavered in response.

“Watch it!” York chided, stretching the hand holding the projector out of her reach. “You’re going to erase all my hard work—“

She snorted at that.

York ignored her, continuing, “—and you’re the one who wants the alternative egress.”

Carolina sat up in a sudden, liquid movement, turning her head to look at Wash. He forced himself not to step back, startled by the bright eyes suddenly focused on him.

“Now look what you’ve done,” York muttered, shifting his weight slightly to stretch a crick from his back. He started to reset the hologram. 

Carolina ignored him. “Agent Washington, right?” she asked.

Wash nodded, uncertain if he should salute. “Yes. Er, yes, ma’am...?”

“Don’t be late. We leave on time and we will go without you.” That said, she laid back down, earning a faint grunt from York when her head hit his leg. He tangled the fingers of his free hand back into her hair. Wash watched as they seemed to settle into each other, York’s only movement turning his hand to get a different view of the buildings, Carolina’s easy drape against him. He couldn't quite figure out what they were. He never really did.

“She—“ Wash started in a whisper, after judging Carolina might probably have dropped off to sleep. He made an aborted gesture at his eyes.

“Leave it alone, rook,” York said, matching his low volume.

“But the Director…?” Wash’s brow furrowed.

York glanced up, looking at the other man. “Seriously, you don’t want to go there.” His voice was mild, but there was something in his eyes that reminded Wash he was speaking with a senior Freelancer and veteran besides. The bare hint of edge cut through York's affable friendliness and was sharper for it.

Silence reigned for a few minutes; York turned his attention fully back to his work and made a notation on the hologram while Wash wondered how he could get out of the lounge without it looking like he was fleeing. Finally, York looked up again and raised an eyebrow at Wash. 

“Help you with something else?” From anyone else, it might have been a rebuke or sarcastic, but from York it was simply bland curiosity. 

“No, I just…” Wash watched the two of them for a beat longer, then shrugged. “She wasn’t what I was expecting,” he finished, lamely.

“No kidding,” York muttered, looking back at his blueprint. “You’ll be fine, rookie. Just make sure you reread the briefing before you turn in and definitely familiarize yourself with Operation Jackal. There's a lot in that dossier that you can use on the op."

“Operation—“ Wash started.

“That’s the one,” York said, with a note of finality in his voice.

Wash nodded. “I will. Thanks. Uh, goodnight.” He waved slightly, felt dumb for doing it, as the other man wasn’t looking at him, then stumbled a step when York waved at him, over his shoulder.

Silence crept back into the lounge as York listened to the footsteps recede. He marked another possible exit and shifted the view slightly to see if he could get a third.

“Operation Jackal?” Carolina asked.

The corner of York’s lips quirked up. “Searching for it will keep him from worrying about the mission. The first mission is always the worst.”

“You know talking to the rookies just makes it worse when they die,” Carolina said, causing him to glance down at her.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” he said with a shrug. “Give him a chance.”

She made a noncommittal sound and opened one eye, tilting her head to look at the blueprint. “The vent isn’t going to work. Your shoulders won’t fit through the opening. I doubt Washington’s will, either.”

“You think?” he asked, peering closer. “It’s going be tight, sure…”

“You aren’t factoring in armor, again. Are you _sure_ you know what you’re doing?” She reached up to tap the marker, making it fade away.

“Now, don’t be like that. I’m easily one of the best infiltration specialists—” he said, “—In this room… Probably.”

She exhaled a half laugh. “Sure, York,” she drawled, shutting her eyes again. “Wake me up when you find a way out we _all_ can use.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, tilting his head down to get a better look at the hologram. Her breath grew deep and even, the only sound in the lounge. 

A while later, when she tried to roll over, in full sleep, he smiled and brushed her hair back before marking two more possible exits. 

He eventually fell asleep slumped against her, his head on her hip and hers still on his thigh. He had marked every point of egress without ever considering waking her to tell her he was done.

—

The first time York pulled off a miracle for Carolina, he was pinned down in a sub-basement parking lot and she was working her way through the mercenaries between her and the main objective, ten stories above. 

“I need an exit, York,” she said over the comm, voice tight with tension. 

York finished counting the number of mercenaries that had guns trained on him. Sixteen that he could see, although five of those were aiming at Washington. Still, sixteen heavily armed mercenaries, better armed and at the moment, in a superior position.

“Ah, we’re a little busy at the moment,” York said, raising his hands at one of the mercenaries’ insistence. He let his pistol dangle from his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Washington do the same. “In fact, we could probably use a hand, ourselves. Or maybe a spare battalion, if you have one.”

“Whatever is it is, fix it,” Carolina said. “I just finished setting the charges and the countdown clock only goes _one way_ ” 

York glanced around, ignoring the mercenaries immediate, shouted objections. On his HUD, the countdown appeared, a mirror of Carolina's.

Okay. He just needed to solve the problems, one by one. 

He needed weapons. Sixteen heavily armed mercenaries. A single bulb illuminating the area.

He needed better back up. He’d have to go get her, because Wash probably wouldn't improve enough any time soon.

He needed to move fast. He scanned the nearby vehicles for…Ah-hah! He hadn’t hot-wired _anything_ since he graduated high school, but how hard could it be? It was probably like riding a-

“I said get down!” one of the mercenaries shouted and York glanced at his mission clock.

“Just calm down,” York told him. “This isn’t as easy as I'm going to make it look. Hey, Wash, are you rated for subclass 4 vehicles?”

“ _What?_ ” Washington asked.

“Subclass 4. Variant small vehicles. Come on, yes or no?” York eyed the distance between him and the mercenaries, then turned on the night vision for his visor, shutting his eyes against the immediate glare.

“I.. Yes?” Washing said.

“York!” Carolina said, voice snapping.

“I heard you, I’m on my way.” York stretched a crick out of his neck. He was going to need to do this fast and make the first shot blind. He hoped his luck was running good, today. “We’ll be coming up the south side of the building, using the parking ramp. If I remember right, you should be able to catch a ride if you go out the eighth floor window.”

“ETA?” she asked.

“Stop talking!” one of the mercenaries yelled.

“We’ll be there in plenty of time. Hit the glass at 8 minutes…” he did some fast math in his head. “Eight-twenty-one. You’ve got about half a minute to spare on either side. Sync?”

“Sync,” she echoed back.

“Wash?” York said and snapped his gun up at the lone lightbulb, working from memory alone. The shot plunged them all into darkness.“Go right.”

As it turned out, hot-wiring a mongoose was _exactly_ like riding a bike. 

He still didn’t mention it in the official debrief.

—

York stared at the empty hangar, helmet in his hands. He spent a long moment considering the relatively empty space before turning his head to look at Carolina.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, voice pitched so the comms wouldn’t pick it up. “They want you and me to test combat operations in _zero_ gravity as an experiment to see if everyone should be trained in it?”

Carolina nodded without looking at him. He just knew she was already plotting strategies in her head. “They figured evaluating too many operatives at a time would be detrimental to the initial results and I volunteered us for the first run.”

“I slept through _one_ meeting!”

“We’re the top rated operatives on the squad, the most experienced, and you’re used to me kicking your ass.” Carolina tilted her head to quirk an eyebrow at him. “And nobody else volunteered. Suck it up.”

“Can’t imagine why no one else wanted to do this,” York said. “Ugh, this is going to—“

“Operatives, the field will be going zero g in five…” F.I.L.S.S. said.

York put his helmet on and sealed it. “Everyone's watching this, aren’t they?” he asked Carolina over the comms. He scanned the view bays until he found them all, clustered together.

“Yup!” South said over the comm. “I’ve got twenty that Carolina takes you out in less than five minutes. So far, no one thinks you’ll last longer than ten minutes. Including F.I.L.S.S.”

“It is not a commentary on Agent York's abilities. I have simply run the probabilities and found that the outcomes favor Agent Carolina.” F.I.L.S.S. said primly. “Also, she frequently kicks his ass."

“This is going to suck,” York muttered.

—

“You threw a tank at me!” 

Carolina sipped from her beer, almost daintily, and raised both eyebrows at York. “I _tried_ to throw a tank at you. I couldn’t get the right leverage. You had plenty of time to dodge.”

“A _tank_. To dodge a _tank_!”

North clapped York on the shoulder and set a drink in front of him. “You did get her with the gravboots.”

Carolina nodded and raised an arm to show off the new bruise there. 

“I kicked her twice, got one punch in, and then—“

“She threw a tank at you!” everyone chorused.

Carolina laughed at the expression on York’s face and leaned back against him, knocking her knuckles against his chest.

He fished his lighter from his pocket to light her cigarette. He flicked his fingers at her in shorthand and she lit a second one off the first, handing it over to him. “Next time, I’m throwing a Pelican at you.”

“479er would kill you,” Carolina pointed out.

“I lasted twenty minutes,” he said with a sulk, as she pocketed his lighter.


	4. 99 Problems (Hugo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cannibalized my other Yorkalina fic for this one, but not this chapter.
> 
> All titles are songs that make sense in my warped head.

_”Sir, this is… Is this an assassination?”_

Shnk

_”Are you having concerns regarding the assignment, Agent York? We had assumed from your previous experiences that it would not be a problem for you.”_

Shnk

_”No, sir, I—_

Shnk

_Eyes like an ocean. Questions traded, answered, not a word spoken._

Shnk

_”I just wanted to confirm it, sir. Not something you want to be unclear about.”_  
Shnk

_”Your diligence has been noted, Agent York. Now, if you will consider…”_

Fingers snapped the lighter from York’s hand, closing it with a final click. Carolina sat down on the Pelican tailgate beside him, bumping his shoulder with her own. 

“It’s not like you to brood,” she observed, rubbing her thumb over the smooth side of the lighter. Instead of looking at him, she palmed it, then opened her hand to reveal it was still there.

He watched her hands. After a failed second attempt, he took the lighter back and palmed it himself, opening his fingers to show the lighter had disappeared. He produced the lighter again just as deftly and handed the lighter back to her.

“I’m not,” he said, and when her silence went heavy and doubtful, he turned his head to look at her. “Really, I’m not. I did some wet work before…” he trailed off. “Before all this. I got over my issues back then.”

“So, what is it?” Carolina asked, trying again. The lighter disappeared, but dropped from her hand. She caught it before it hit the ground.

York leaned back, bracing himself on his arms and watching her without correction. “Why’d you decide to do this?”

“This?” Carolina raised an eyebrow at him. Her palm came up empty. It immediately reappeared with a flick of her wrist. She tried the trick again.

“Enlist. Join Project Freelancer. All of it,” he said, with a shrug. “Why’re you a soldier?”

She paused, then exhaled and braced herself on her hands, mirroring him, one arm crossed with his. She thought about the question for a minute. “I always just knew it was what I was going to do. My mother was… she was supposed to be some sort of super soldier. Not enhanced, just good. Better than good. And my father…” she dropped off. “It’s all I can ever remember wanting to be.”

York thought that over in comfortable silence. “You _are_ pretty good at it,” he finally said.

She shoved him with her shoulder. “What about you?”

He stood up, offering her a hand and half a smile. “Can’t a guy keep his secret, tragic past in an aura of mystery?”

“You have an aura of mystery?” she asked, showing him the lighter, then closing her fingers around it and holding out both fists.

“I’ve been known to keep a few around in case of emergencies.” He tapped one and she displayed the empty palm. He tapped the other and rolled his eyes when she opened to reveal another empty palm and a smug grin.

“You’re getting better at this,” he said. His own smile turned smug when he startled her, producing the lighter from behind her ear.

She touched her ear and then narrowed her eyes at him. “I have a ways to go before I’m as good as you,” she said, lightly edged with sarcasm.

“It’s all misdirection,” he told her. 

“Speaking of misdirection, you never answered my question.” She poked him in the stomach.

He doubled over, overly dramatic, staggering back to the floor of the Pelican and dragging her down with him, which led to an impromptu contest over who was better at grappling, at least that day.

Halfway asleep, hours later, she realized he never actually answered her.

—

“You’re going to have to call her.”

The cell was a tight fit, even without Maine taking up the bulk of it. Washington was the only one who still had his armor and he stood in the corner, failing to stay out of the way. Connie leaned against the wall beside him, watching the closed, locked cell door. York had claimed the cell’s sole bunk, stretched out without much concern for how little space they had.

“Look, I think we can still get out of this,” Wash said, scanning the ceiling for an answer. “We just need to figure out a way to get out of this cell.”

“And get our weapons and armor back,” Connie added.

Wash nodded, shrugging. “Get out of this cell and get our weapons and armor back.” 

“I’m telling you, just call her,” York said, flicking his lighter absently. The faint _shnk_ sound it made was grating on Washington’s nerves, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by York.

“Can’t _you_ get us out of here?” Wash asked, twisting to look at him. “Isn’t that supposed to be your specialty?”

“That all depends. Is the lock on the door a Hamilton or a Liberty?” York asked, without lifting his head.

“Uhh,” Wash squatted down to examine it. “…It looks like a Phoenix.”

York sat up, flipping his lighter into the air and snatching it back. “No shit?”

“Does that mean you can get us out?” Wash asked, hope rising.

“Nope,” York said, flopping back down on the cot.

“Dick,” Wash muttered, going back to his scan of the room.

“You _really_ can’t get us out of here?” Connie asked, doubt rich in her voice.

“Sure, I can get us out of here,” York said. “The first thing we’re going to need to do is use Wash’s comm to call Carolina and then someone who isn’t me will need to tell her we were mugged.”

“Ambushed,” Connie corrected.

“Same thing,” York said, waving a hand. “After that, Wash is going to have to run his beacon subroutines so she can find us. Then everybody has to stay extremely quiet, so I can catch a nap. And in…oh, about an hour the door will open.”

“Just like that,” Connie remarked, wryly.

“Just like that,” York agreed.

“And you’re not even a little concerned about what she’s going to think?” Wash asked. “That she’ll have to report the mission as a failure?”

“Wash, if I worried about doing things that pissed off Carolina, I’d never have the time to do the things that _actually_ piss off Carolina.” York flipped his lighter into the air and caught it again, one handed. “And this mission _is_ a failure.”

“Fine,” Wash said, shoulders slumping

An hour and a half later, the lock clicked and the door to the cell opened, startling York awake. He fell out of the narrow cot and sat straight up. “I’ve got this!” he exclaimed, barely awake, looking around.

The rest of the squad turned their attention away from his display to the newly opened doorway.

“Hello, boys and girls,” Carolina said, silhouetted there. “Did somebody call for a rescue?”

York offered her an unrepentant grin as he stood up. “You’re late,” he said, tossing her the lighter. “The next training op, you’re watching the kids.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be _good_ at getting out of cells?” she asked.

“That’s what I said!” Wash said, flinging his arms wide and hitting Maine. 

—

The group was getting larger, something he only noticed the first time all agents were called to report at the same time. There was more than enough people to fill the auditorium now, more than a few faces York didn’t recognize immediately. There was a certain uncomfortable ambiance that came when surrounded by new faces. Even the auditorium was new, with a large, dark wall and simple stage.

“You don’t think they’re going to announce we’re getting raises, do you?” York asked Wash, and Carolina hushed him, seated on the other man’s other side. York glanced at the stage to see the Director entering and the entire auditorium stood and snapped to attention. 

Years later, York didn’t remember the speech, the justifications, the pretty words painted over the pile of shit everything became. There was a murmur when the leaderboard lit up, their names ordered alphabetically, ( _a temporary measure until we finish compiling complete data using new metrics,_ the Counselor assured them.) While everyone else looked up at the leaderboard, York looked over at Carolina, expecting to catch her gaze. 

Years later, what he remembered was the look on her face as she stared up at the board.


	5. Say Geronimo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand to hand, sparring with him, Carolina could beat him two times out of three, but long experience had taught her that sparring with York was nothing like fighting York. The advantage he had in the field also gave him an advantage in a fist fight: he shrugged off hits that put larger men down.

“This is starting to become a habit, Agent Washington.”

Washington turned around to find Carolina standing in the street behind him, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets and her collar turned up against the cold. The blue neon of Errera’s sign bled into her, seeming to make her glow.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he admitted. “I would have called Illinois, except, well…”

“Let me guess, he was part of the problem?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She didn’t wait for an answer. “Where are they?”

“Inside,” Wash said. “Well, York is. I got Illinois and North out already and put them on a transport back to base. They were… loud.”

“I’m sure,” she said, lighting a cigarette with York’s lighter. “The last time they did this, they sang Irish shanties the entire trip back.”

Washington gaped at that, unsure of where to even start. “He’s done this before?” he asked, finally.

“At least four times since I’ve known him,” she said with a shrug. “I think he once said he did it to get through college.”

“He went to college?” Washington asked, just as surprised by that. He followed her into the club.

She either didn’t hear or didn’t feel like answering, turning her attention to surveying the cheering crowd and wreckage of the bar. She didn’t have to search hard to find York, but she skated the edge of the crowd, detouring to an open space at the bar. Washington watched her wave down the bartender.

“What are you doing?” he asked, gesturing to the crowd in the back of the club. “Shouldn’t we…?”

“Paying the tab,” Carolina said, making a gesture to indicate that the bartender should put all the damages onto the account. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

“This is at least the _sixth_ guy!” Wash protested.

Carolina raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t look up from authorizing payment. “That’s pretty low for how late it is. He got to thirteen the last time.”

“You’re kidding,” Wash said.

“Nope,” she said. “I was there. They were pretty good, too. Let’s go.”

She used more than one combat move to get through the crowd to the ring of broken tables (all of which she’d just paid for) that lay at its heart. She emerged just in time to see York take a solid hit on the chin.

Hand to hand, sparring with him, Carolina could beat him two times out of three, but long experience had taught her that sparring with York was nothing like _fighting_ York. The advantage he had in the field also gave him an advantage in a fist fight: he shrugged off hits that put larger men down. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t aware of it. He’d never relied on it as a crutch in all the time she’d known him; Carolina would be one of the first to admit he could hold his own, regarding the technicalities of fighting.

Still, he wasn’t as beat up as she expected, but judging from his current opponent, he hadn’t been fighting the cream of the crop to begin with. She was watching for it, so she knew the exact moment he noticed her. In that split second, she knew he wasn’t nearly as drunk as Wash thought and that he wasn’t hurting, despite a nasty cut on his forehead. Her lips curled up in half a smile, but otherwise she did nothing, despite Wash’s continued protests.

She watched him beat back the other guy, then take a few decent hits of his own, watched long enough to know that he was playing around more than anything else. It looked like Illinois hadn’t had time to make a bet, then. He had more focus when money was on the line.

After watching for a few minutes, she whistled once, sharply, then rolled her eyes when York let himself be thrown into Washington, rather than just walking over like a normal person.

“Hey, Carolina,” York said, flashing an unrepentant smile as he untangled from Washington. “Want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she said. “Say goodnight to your friends, it’s time to go.”

He nodded and took a gulp from someone else’s beer, then handed her the glass. “If you say so. Here, hold my beer.” 

He lunged back into the fight before she could protest. With a sigh, she handed the beer back to its owner.

It took York less time to knock the guy out than it took her and Washington to get him out of the club. Once outside, the air was bracingly cold and refreshing after the humid heat inside and they all paused as it hit them. Carolina watched York pat his pockets and already had his lighter out when he glanced up at her. She lit his cigarette while Wash tried to inspect the cut on his forehead. 

“What was it this time?” Carolina asked, watching as York attempted to smoke a cigarette and fend off Washington at the same time.

“ _Stop it_ — What?” York glanced at her, holding Wash back with his free hand. “Oh, Wash let Illinois play cards. So, instead of having one big fight when he was caught—“

“You decided to have several smaller fights,” she finished. “You do know we have a mission tomorrow?”

“ _Will you just leave it alone?_ I’m fine,” York hissed at Wash, swatting him in mild irritation. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we were drinking to begin with.”

“He went shot for shot with North,” Washington said, giving up with something close to a huff. “And while they were doing that, Illinois decided to play cards against the local gang. No one mentioned that Illinois wasn’t allowed to play cards.”

“Everyone knows not to let Illinois play cards, ” York said, then stopped suddenly and pivoted back to the bar. “We forgot North and Illinois!”

That got him the laugh from Carolina, though it also might also have been at how frantically and sincerely Washington tried to turn him back around. She watched them goof off for a minute, then continued on her way back to the transport.

“Will you stop?” she eventually called, without turning back around. “Some of us need to get some sleep tonight.”

York dodged around Wash only to twist sharply on heel and jog back to Carolina. “You never sleep before missions,” he said, easily falling into step with her. 

Both of them gave Washington almost identical questioning looks when the other man caught up with them, out of breath and waving an accusatory finger at York. They waited to see if he was going to follow up with actual words, York offering his cigarette to Carolina, who dragged off it and handed it back.

“Dick. move,” Wash finally said to York.

York shrugged innocently at Carolina’s questioning look and they both turned back toward the transport, leaving Wash to trail along behind.

“I meant you,” she said. “The last time you didn’t get eight hours of sleep before a mission, you ended up falling asleep before you’d secured the extraction point.”

“That wasn’t my fault! The only reason I stayed awake was because you were awake, too. Hey, you don’t still have that beer, do you?” York asked.

“I gave it back to the nice woman who bought it,” she said, as he dabbed a hand to the cut on his forehead and winced.

“How bad does this look?” He tilted his head toward her.

Carolina flicked her gaze at the cut, then they both looked over their shoulders at Wash, who had stopped and spread his arms in indignation. 

“You’re fine,” Carolina said.

Wash caught back up with them, then looked closer at York, eyes narrowed. “Were you… Were you just more drunk a minute ago?” he asked.

York laughed at the expression on his face. “That doesn’t make any sense, Wash.”

“Yes,” Carolina said. “He was. He gets better odds on the fights if people think he’s hammered. They do this whenever Illinois plays cards. It’s only one of the reasons we never let Illinois play cards.” 

Wash stared at her, then looked at York for confirmation. York nodded and pointed at Carolina in agreement.

“You’re kidding!” Wash said.

“No,” York said, seriously. “We really don’t let Illinois play cards if we can help it.”

—

York was stretched out on one of the benches in the locker room by the time Carolina finished with the mission debrief, one arm flung across his eyes. He waved her toward the showers without uncovering them.

“I’ll keep,” he told her, which was enough for her.

It took her a while to get out of armor and through the showers. The events of the last mission had been exhausting, even for her. As it was, York was half asleep by the time she finished up and walked back out, toweling off her hair. 

“York,” she said, then winced as he startled awake and fell off the bench. “Are you okay?” 

“What is _with_ you and making me fall off things today?” he asked, making no move to get back up from where he’d fallen. “Buildings, benches…”

“Technically, we jumped,” she said, sitting down on the bench. “Are you going to get up?”

“I’m honestly considering sleeping right here,” he said. “Even Wash would have a hard time falling off the floor.”

“Jumping,” she corrected, recognizing the deflection for what it was. “Will you just sit up and let me see?”

He groaned, but sat up. She rolled her eyes where he made no further move.

“I’ll see it eventually, anyway,” she pointed out. 

He cocked his head slightly as he thought about that. “What-“ he started.

“York,” she interrupted his next attempt to stall.

“Alright, alright,” he said, climbing back onto the bench. He turned his head so she could see what was left of his eye. “What do you think? Is my modeling career safe?”

“Was there ever any doubt?” she asked, examining the healing skin. She held a finger in front of him, then moved it around to the side of his head, testing where his peripheral vision gave out. “It didn’t slow you down in the field,” she said. “Much.”

“I guess this is better than Wyoming’s reaction,” he said, obligingly turning his head again so she could examine his profile.

“Don’t tell me…” she said. 

“Oh, I’m saving it,” he agreed, turning back. “The next time we jump off a building, I’m going to tell you right before we hit the ground.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and raised his eyebrows at her.

“You’ll be doing me a favor, then,” she said, meeting his gaze. It was only then she noticed how tense he was. It took her a second to figure out why, tired as she was. 

“Do I pass muster?” he asked.

She stood up and kissed the top of his head. “It’s good to have you back, York.”

—

There was something familiar about Texas and it ate at York every time he saw her. On the training floor, Carolina watched him watch _her_ , as he tried to figure out what.

Carolina told herself she was just being a good teammate when she twirled the baton and attacked from his blind side. He needed to be able to compensate for the lost vision.

Vision he had lost because of her and he was _still_ watching her.


End file.
